I am 6 years-old. It’s a little after 7 on a cold morning. Everyone in my family is sleeping.

Santa Claus brought me a Voit basketball. I reached down and pulled it from under our Christmas tree. Ripping the ball out of the box, I started dribbling in our apartment, mom woke up screaming at me.

“GO TO THE FUCKING SCHOOLYARD!” She shouted.

I did as I was told.

Got dressed, walked across 9th avenue, down Windsor Place, hung a right on Howard Place.

Straight to the yard. Taking turns dribbling with my left hand and my right.

212 steps. I know because I counted them.

I had the yard to myself. It was empty. People walking to church were looking at me like I was crazy. The schoolyard became my “Paved Paradise.”

Looking at the kids passing by with their parents, I was like, “yeah, that’s right, you go to your church, I’m at mine…”